


Futility

by Menchin



Series: Ashes [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medical Trauma, Nepotism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Soldiers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menchin/pseuds/Menchin
Summary: Cast head to toe in pristine black iron, newly-minted Pilus Artir rem Ultis beheld his century. What bits and pieces were left of them, at any rate.
Series: Ashes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829986
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Futility

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that a 300 word drabble is called a trabble? I didn't.
> 
> Would 400 words be quatrabble?

_By the Emperor…_

Cast head to toe in pristine black iron, newly-minted Pilus Artir rem Ultis beheld his century. What bits and pieces were left of them, at any rate.

He had read the reports. Watched the footage. It paled in comparison to seeing this.

Medicae flitted here and there, doing what they could to alleviate the abject suffering his men were experiencing.

He felt hopeless. He felt sick. He tried to breathe but his lungs refused to cooperate.

_This is my doing._

As he passed the medical tents in a daze, an oddly rigid hand grabbed his wrist, tremors afflicting it.

“S-sir…” a hoarse, broken voice called out. They were completely unidentifiable, a grim amalgamation of flesh and metal, their charred oak skin oozing blood still, even after the ministrations of the medicae. “Help… me…”

The soldier’s remaining eye locked onto his own, clouded and afraid. The tremors stopped and their arm fell.

Artir knew not how long he stood staring at the body. He was glad for the relative privacy his helmet offered.

The rustle of fabric alerted him to another presence inbound. He turned to see blood-spattered medicus robes and a well-worn clipboard.

Smartly saluting, the medicus turned to her former patient with a curl in her lip and a furrowed brow. It was unclear whether this was from disgust or pity.

“Poor girl.” _Pity, then._ “Nasty bit of business, what happened. Never seen a man fight like that.”

“Man…” Artir murmured, though not quietly enough for the medicus to miss.

“Aye sir, the Eikon Slayer.” She looked back up at him from her note-taking. “Surely you’ve read the reports?”

A slow, dim nod is what she received in lieu of an answer.

Oh, he had seen more than words on a page. They had recovered footage from a Decurion’s helmet. It showed a towering figure, flinging otherworldly flame that never seemed to truly go out. The first squad to engage was simply disintegrated. The rest were not quite so lucky.

At the end of it all, the beast observed the carnage it had wrought, smoldering amber orbs looking directly into the camera lens. At Artir.

The medicus had turned fully to him now. She seemed… concerned.

“Sir, perhaps you should rest. It’s been a difficult time for us all.”

He turned to the edge of the cliff his century had taken up camp on. The sun was slowly dipping under the horizon. He missed his mother.

“Yes. Perhaps I should.”

**Author's Note:**

> It seems I'm utterly incapable of writing anything that isn't an oddly emotionally detached POV piece.
> 
> This is technically related to the rest of my series but it could apply to any WoL that isn't a Lala so if you choose to read it as yours that's fine.
> 
> Criticism welcome, constructive and otherwise.
> 
> Will take suggestions for future works as well.


End file.
